


Unguarded

by writeonclara



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-22 02:10:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14298474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeonclara/pseuds/writeonclara
Summary: Watson takes exception to Holmes's methods.





	Unguarded

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Неосторожность](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14499834) by [Little_Unicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Unicorn/pseuds/Little_Unicorn)



> Written for a Holmes kinkmeme way back in 2013.

I pride myself in consistently going beyond the pale for my cases, but nevertheless to-day was considerably trying my already impatient disposition. No one would call me a 'marrying man' to be sure, and yet I had squandered an irreplaceable twenty minutes failing to woo the tittering governess. I had clearly miscalculated on how to make this woman reveal more information about the Lord Clarence Aberford the most quickly, as all of my sycophantic compliments and gentle questions only resulted in loathsome giggles and blushes. Clearly, I ought to have left the lovemaking in the hands of a true professional. I had very little experience on one continent, let alone three. 

I, of course, was still yet the very image of composure; however, I could not prevent my eyes from wandering the gardens in search of any diversion to keep me from abandoning my cause. My eyes, as if drawn by a magnet, alighted on Watson, who was engaged in what appeared to be a very exciting, though undoubtedly a fruitless, conversation with Inspector Lestrade behind a copse of trees that barely hid them. That is to say, my dear friend remained motionless, shoulders thrown back, hands clasped behind his back, smiling and nodding occasionally as Lestrade employed grandiose hand motions to convey his point. It was like watching a hyper-active rat terrier yipping at a stoic Saint Bernard that was willing to humour his little friend. 

I could not help the small, sardonic smile that twisted my lips.

"Darling," I said, not taking my eyes off Watson and Lestrade, though speaking to the governess--Giselle.

She flushed at the bold address. "Yes sir--my dear?" She added the last bit on uncertainly, tangling her fingers together and looking down at her hands. I could not take much more of this.

I am well aware of what Watson thinks of my using people to further my means. He considers me a heartless machine--an automaton who would willingly sacrifice a person for the sake of a case. I do not fault him for his conceptions; they are, in some aspects, correct. I have no patience for softer emotions, especially not those bred purely out of infatuation. I see no reason why I should have any moral qualms divesting a person of information they are too stupid to guard.

Watson had made it abundantly clear what he thought about my engagement to Milverton's housemaid, but I could no longer spare my friend's gentlemanly sensibilities. I turned to her and leaned forward, pressing my lips close to her ear.

"Am I to fight another for the claim to your heart?" My voice slipped like velvet. Giselle went completely still, save the shudder that wracked her small frame. She shook her head quickly, then reddened and looked away. She was not so innocent as that.

"Lord Aberford--" she said, then stopped herself. She tilted her chin up and glared at me, a spark lighting her eyes. "No."

Lord Aberford had announced his engagement last Thursday. I could see, beyond her pink cheeks and trembling hands, that I had indeed severely misjudged the strong-willed governess Giselle. It was time to change tactics.

"I believe that we could be of use to each other," I said, dropping my silken tone. "You wish to revenge yourself against Lord Aberford for misleading you--and rightfully so. I desire information with regards to Lord Aberford. If you are willing to help me, I will gladly help you."

Giselle considered me shrewdly. "And how do you suppose to help me enact my revenge?"

"Whether or not Lord Aberford has any _tendresse_ towards you, he is but a man. That is to say, he regards you with a certain amount of possessiveness, to be sure. If you would take a moment to look over my left shoulder--subtly, now, well done!--you can see that he has been observing us these past twenty minutes. If you provide me with the information I need, I shall bestow upon you a kiss."

Giselle colored at my words, though she was thinking them over. She glanced over my shoulder again, at the second floor window, then nodded almost imperceptibly. "All right," said she, "but you will kiss me, first."

I did not like this, but was willing to negotiate in order for more data. I nodded, then leaned forward to place a perfunctory kiss on her bow-shaped lips, only to be ensnared by a pair of thin arms thrown about my neck. I opened my mouth to protest and--good heavens!--she slipped her tongue past my lips.

It was uncomfortable and embarrassing, and I longed to pull away from the foreign tongue in my mouth, but was not willing to sacrifice the promise for new information. I kissed her back, cupping her soft cheeks in my hands and bending over her, reciting the periodic table in my head to keep myself from pulling back to soon. I tried to effuse it with passion, though I felt very little. My best hope was that, seen from a distance, it was much more ardent than it actually felt.

It was she who stepped away first, blotting her lips delicately with the tips of her fingers and looking smugly past my left shoulder. She was not so subtle now, all but smirking at the livid Lord Aberford.

"Thank you," she said. "I suppose that did the trick."

It was at that moment that my gaze chanced on Watson, and my breath caught in my throat. He had abandoned his conversation with Lestrade and was staring at me unreservedly, with a look in those serene blue eyes I had never seen before. Rather, his eyes were not so serene at the moment. They blazed at me, searing a hot hole through my chest. His hands clenched and unclenched in fists at his sides and his teeth were actually bared, in the grimace of an angered dog. I licked my lips. He actually started forward a step, before visibly reigning himself in.

I could only surmise that Watson was again furious at me for leading a woman on for my own means. Here I will admit that I willfully wore my blinders, for you see, I dared not hope for the obvious.

Lestrade, interestingly, had found something in the trees to be very captivating.

Watson tore his gaze away from me, and I bled afresh. I reacted the only way I knew how: anger that he would interrupt my case with his _morals_. I turned back to Giselle, smiling winningly.

"Now, darling, let's talk business."

Not running to him right then is probably the biggest sacrifice I have had to make for a case, to date.

* * *

As it turned out, Giselle had vital information to share with me. The kiss was a small price to pay in order to solve the Case of the Missing Pearls. Of course, it was not so simple as that--a set of fake pearls, a row between Lord Aberford and his deceitful affianced, brave Giselle fishing her soaked lover from the fountain, and a furious gander that chased Lestrade and I up a tree kept us on our toes. I will allow Watson to more skillfully pen the case at a later date; for now, I have more important details to recount.

It was not until we had returned to Baker Street that we had a chance to discuss what had happened in Lord Aberford's gardens. We had spent the cab ride home going over the details of the case, Watson heartily laughing again when we got to the part about the furious gander. However, when we reached our sitting room, we plunged into an uncomfortable silence.

"Holmes--" Watson started, sitting heavily down on his customary chair. I went to the brandy.

"Spare me from your lecture, Watson," I said, bitterly. "The arrangement I had with Miss Giselle was half her idea. She used me as readily as I used her."

"It seems that you often strike up such 'arrangements' with the staff."

I turned to him, blood thrumming almost pleasantly in my veins. It had been awhile since I argued with Watson. "If you are waiting for me to apologize for using any tactic within reason to solve the case, I fear that you will be waiting for a long time. I do not regret what I did."

Watson slammed his fist ineffectually against the arm of his chair, eyes once again blazing with that same strange fury I had seen early. Up close, the effect was far more terrible.

"I should not be so surprised that you would do anything for a case, without any regard for all involved."

"And why should I! I solved the case, didn't I?"

"Damnit, Holmes--!"

"Just because you cannot separate yourself from your upstanding British _morals_ does not mean I should hinder myself with the same limitations! If no one was hurt in my ruse, why _should_ I apologize?"

Watson launched himself from the chair, prowling towards me like a furious tiger. His limp did not ruin the effect at all; at that moment, Watson was in his element. 

"How dare you sit there and tell me that no one was hurt by your little game!"

"I'm sure that if you apply my methods of deduction you will find that I am actually standing instead of sitting," I shot back, "and I dare because it is true. Tell me, Watson, who else could possibly be hurt?"

"What about--" he trailed off in disgust and began to pace like a caged animal.

Suddenly, I was desperate to hear the end of that sentence. "What about _who_ , Watson?" I snarled.

He turned on me, and for a moment I believed he would engage me in a round of fisticuffs. I did not want it to come to blows, but if it became necessary--

"ME!" Watson shouted, with fire in his eyes. "What about _me_ , Holmes?"

My breath caught and stuck in my throat, heart alternating between singing and beating itself harshly against my ribcage in an attempt to go out to him. But my blood was still liquid nitrate in my veins. "What _about_ you, Watson?" I purred.

He stalked towards me, straight white teeth bared threateningly. "What if you were hurting _me_?"

"And why, my dear Watson, would me kissing another hurt you?"

"Because," said Watson, nearly nose to nose with me now, "you belong to _me_." 

Ah, I see. It was not just anger in Watson's eyes, but _lust_.

He kissed me most ardently, tangling his fingers hard in my hair. I was helpless to do anything else but kiss back, adrenaline coursing through my veins. This was nothing like the kiss I shared with Giselle. This set my blood molten, pooling heat into my stomach. This opened doors to new worlds. This made my knees weak and my breath short. I clung to him, certain that if I did not I would fly to pieces.

When we finally pulled apart, short for breath, Watson kept his fingers tangled in my hair and pressed his forehead against mine.

"So you see, I do not like you to kiss another."

"I see," I said, finally.

"Oh, good." Watson breathed with relief. "I was beginning to despair."

I forgave him for his slight, as I was still liquid from the kiss. I should have been furious with him. I should have been furious with myself. I could little afford any distraction. And yet, I instead felt as if everything had finally settled into place. How long, I wonder, had he waited for me? And how long had I waited for him? It was only natural for our relationship to progress like so. I would never feel so strongly for another as I did for my Watson.


End file.
